How 1984 Should Have Ended
by Fire-Pokemon43
Summary: An alternate ending to 1984.


(page 170, paragraph 4)

He stopped and glanced over his shoulder, with the feeling that the door had opened. Sure enough, the little yellow-faced servant had come in without knocking. Winston saw that he was carrying a tray with a small decanter, glasses, and four syringe, all filled with a transparent liquid.

Winston stared at the display of syringes with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity, being intrigued and repelled at the same time.

"What are in the syringes?" Winston asked O'Brien, fear clearly evident in his elevated voice.

With a twinkle in his eye, O'Brien vaguely answered, "Distilled rebellion."

O'Brien motioned the servant over, a knowing smile on his face. The servant walked over, placed the tray on the table as gracefully as possible, and picked up a syringe.

"Now Winston, I want you to trust me. This syringe is an important first step in the rebellion you are about to partake in," O'Brien coached in his gentle voice.

"I trust you," Winston said. How could he not? He had walked into an Inner Party member's house, proclaiming rebellion, because he thought he saw a treacherous look in O'Brien's eye. He was past mere trust.

"Good. Martin, start the process."

The manservant approached Winston, and ever so gently injected the translucent liquid into Winston's forehead. The liquid warmed his face, as though he had been injected with warm water. The feeling spread around his whole face. At this time, his whole face started to throb. Winston knew something was wrong.

"What is happening to me?" Winston fearfully shouted, to no one in particular.

"What is wrong with him?" Julia's shout was even louder than his.

O'Brien, still looking calm, said "It's quite all right, just wait."

After a few tense moments of fear, the throb died down, leaving Winston relieved. He exhaled a sigh of relief. At this moment, he noticed Julia looking at him strangely.

"What is wrong with his face?" Julia asked O'Brien, concerned.

"The syringe contained 20 cc's of Botox, a bacterium that paralyzes the face," O'Brien replied. "The rebels use this to avoid getting caught for thoughtcrime. You see, the Thought Police use facial expressions to tell what the person is thinking. If their expression is always of quiet similitude, they cannot actually tell what that person is thinking." As O'Brien said this, he brought a mirror over to Winston. No matter how rebellious his thoughts became, Winston's facial expression stayed that of calm acceptance.

O'Brien now turned to Julia. "Your turn," He simply said.

Julia submitted to Martin, who had picked up a second syringe. After a few minutes, Julia's facial expression was that of Winston's, of impassive humility.

"Now for the second step," O'Brien said as he motioned for Martin to pick up a third syringe. Martin walked over, and injected a fluid into Winston's scalp. Winston felt a stab of pain at the injection site that quickly faded away.

While this happened, O'Brien explained, "This liquid contains a neurotransmitter, capable of electronically broadcasting your thoughts on an encrypted frequency to every other transmitter around you. This is how we communicate with each other without the Party knowing."

Martin repeated the process to Julia, and then sat down at the table. He began to pour the red liquid into four glasses, and gave one to each of them.

After about ten minutes of drinking this curious red liquid, which O'Brien called wine, he gave two opaque tablets to Julia and Winston. Since the night watchmen could smell the wine on their breath, O'Brien had said, they needed to mask the smell by eating the tablets. They ate the tablets, bade farewell, and left, Julia five minutes before Winston.

Winston woke the next morning to the sound of O'Brien's voice.

"Testing, Testing"

"It's working."

"Good. Now starts the final phase of your initiation. After work, you need to follow these instructions carefully. O'Brien relayed a set of instructions to Winston. Don't forget these steps. Stay safe and good luck." O'Brien ceased transmitting.

Winston got out of bed, feeling as though he were in a dream. To think that he was a traitor, entering a collective of other traitors, whose only mission was to take the Party down, was ludicrous. And yet, here he was.

Winston went about work as usual. It was easy for him to not show his nervousness being at work, now that he was a traitor, because of his years of practice disguising his emotions and the treatment he had had last night. After work, instead of going home like usual, he followed the instructions that O'Brien had given him.

They lead him down a winding path out of the city, through the prole district, and into a train station. Still following his directions, Winston exited out the other side of the train station, avoiding Party officials, and onto a path in a nearby forest, barely worn from the little foot traffic it received. He eventually ended at a clearing in the woods. On the ground in the center lay an inconspicuous stone circle. In accordance with what O'Brien told him, Winston stood on the circle, bent over, and knocked twenty seven times. After he finished, the circle began to sink into the ground. This was it! Winston excitedly thought, as he slowly descended into the earth. After about a minute, torchlight appeared at his feet, until it slowly reached his face.

In front of Winston was a small, earthen room, with two torches on either wall directly next to him. About ten feet away lay a door, cast iron, with a locked door handle. Next to the door was O'Brien, with a clean-shaven face, clean clothes, and a face that was full of calm tranquility.

O'Brien beckoned Winston to come over to him, and then procured a key out of one of his pockets. He then unlocked the metal door with his key, and turned to Winston.

"Are you ready to see what happens to the vaporized?" O'Brien asked Winston.

Winston nodded.

O'Brien opened the door, the hinges squeaking. Behind the door, Winston saw a vast area, full of houses, militant shops, and people, all appearing to be calm and tranquil as they trained in fields. The amount of rebels to be seen easily surpassed a million.

"Only a few days from now, we will emerge in our full glory, and crush the Party. Will you join us?" O'Brien seemed to already know the answer.

Winston knew, as well. He was going to become a full-out rebel, a traitor to his country. This wasn't because of the Party, its teachings, or even Julia. It was because of four words.

He hated Big Brother.


End file.
